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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300446">A Love That's Shining All Around Here</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SittingOnACornflake/pseuds/SittingOnACornflake'>SittingOnACornflake</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Starrison Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Kissing, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love, george has tumblr, he writes fanfictions about him and ringo, i hate summaries please give it a go, that's the plot, the beatles are a band in 2019</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:20:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SittingOnACornflake/pseuds/SittingOnACornflake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George can't have Ringo in real life, so he writes fanfictions about them.<br/>Until, one day, Ringo discovers fanfictions are a thing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Harrison/Ringo Starr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Starrison Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Starrison Week</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to day 6! I chose to write about a modern AU where they're still famous but in 2019. I got hugely inspired by ChutJeDors's wonderful The Hot Series. Characters writing and reading fanfictions give me life, so I had to add my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Ringo takes in the sight of George’s naked body sprawled out beneath his own and shivers ...”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>This is good</em>, George thinks, typing frantically, himself sprawled out on the bed, computer open in his lap. He's gotten really good at writing smut in the past few months. He gets comments, people leave kudos on his works, but, most importantly, it doesn’t fluster him visibly anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, he still gets a hard on, but it <em>is</em> hidden by his computer. It’s all about strategy. Apart from that, there's no sign of what he's doing. His cheeks aren’t flushed, and the devil knows he used to blush by the minute when he first had a go at writing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has checked the other day with his webcam (had to take off a bunch of stickers before he was able to do so) and he knows he looks just like always. Calm and collected, distant, focused on whatever he's doing. <em>Whatever he's doing</em>, which is certainly not <em>writing smutty fanfiction about himself and his bandmate, who also happens to be his best friend.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's on his own for now, but what with shared hotel rooms and the whole fame thing, you never know when a very innocent little bean (understand: Ringo, because John isn’t a little bean, and though Paul might be able to pretend to the title he's nowhere near innocent) might barge in the room without knocking. What would a little bean think if George had his hands on something else than his keyboard?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, but really. Getting rid of his crush on Ringo and basically all his pent-up sex frustration by writing fanfictions might be the smartest thing he's ever done, and that means a lot because, not to be brag but he's in the most popular band in the world and it’s happening in 2019.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Stop zoning out</em>, he admonishes himself. <em>What would Ringo do next?</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>His fingers hover for a second above the tiles before he smirks and begins to type frantically. In this au in which Ringo works in a coffee shop and George himself is a customer, his bandmate does <em>a lot of things</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo is busy giving him a blowjob when someone comes in and interrupts him in the middle of a sentence (without knocking, as usual, and George thanks his laptop one more time for whatever there is to hide). It's Ringo. Of course, it's him. It's as much his room as it is George's. Even the bed is half his, as Ringo reminds him, smiling, “Girls are screaming our names outside the hotel and they still only give one bed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo's brows are frowned, but George knows he isn’t really pissed and plays along, “That’s not the idea I had of fame.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t tell me about it. It's definitely sexier on Instagram.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. Wonder if the fans would still come to our concerts if we posted a pic of our crappy little bedroom with not only <em>one bed</em>, but also only <em>one electric plug</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>No</em>,” Ringo gasps, and it isn’t fake this time. “You’re not serious.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George raises an eyebrow. “I am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t move an inch as his eyes lazily follow Ringo around the room as the lad checks every splinter and portion of the four walls. His lust-filled brain relishes the moment when Ringo bents to check under the tiny desk right in front of him, giving him the most perfect view of his back. Then Ringo huffs in defeat, and says in this sweet voice of his, “I guess we'll have to take turns,” and George feels so much love for him that he knows he is fucked. Not only does he lust after Ringo. No. He's also head over heels for him, he <em>loves him</em>, there's no point in denying it or toning it down. So he mentally slaps himself and looks away from his friend. The only place where he's allowed to express his thirst for Ringo’s body is in that hidden folder of his computer, nowhere else. That's all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo flops onto the bed next to him, blissfully unaware of George's thoughts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Any chance I might borrow your laptop?” he asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is something George loves about Ringo: he doesn’t sneak glances at the screen, ever. Be it a laptop or a phone, Ringo always respects his friends' privacy. George has observed him enough (<em>more</em> than enough) to know it's a rule Ringo established once and for all. It would be understandable, though, given the brightness of the screen beckoning the eye to look at it, but once more, Ringo, as the force of nature George knows he is, does not even look in the screens direction as he waits for his bandmate’s answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Busy. Sorry,” George says with an apologetic smile, and he thinks <em>trust me it's better if I don’t lend you this hell's beast. </em>Ringo's so lucky he might just stumble on one of George's stashed works while genuinely trying to find Paint. George <em>knows </em>it. It nearly happened before. He still has goose bumps when he thinks about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I knew you'd say that. What about your phone?” Ringo says, a hint of hope in his tone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No battery left, and my laptop's still charging. What about yours?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I lost my phone,” Ringo shrugs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Again?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. I think I forgot it in the dressroom yesterday. Or the day before. Just realized it today. Where were we yesterday?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have absolutely no idea,” George says after he thinking about it for a minute. “I don’t even know where we are right now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We're lucky Paul and John do all the talking during the concerts.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“True. Guess the crowd wouldn’t like it if I said <em>thank you, lovely people of this unknown city, you're the best, but now we’re off to our next unknown destination on this magical mystery tour!</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo giggles and George soon joins him. He couldn’t help it if he wanted. When Ringo's happy, he is too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well,” Ringo says, standing up after a while. “Maybe John could lend me his laptop. I really wanna watch this documentary.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This ... documentary?” George repeats tentatively after him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. It’s about octopuses! Saw it in Paul’s recommendations when I borrowed his phone to go on YouTube the other day. Seemed really cool.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you say so,” George smiles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I'd much rather write filthy smut about us, but that may be because I'm slightly unhinged and corrupted.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After Ringo has closed the door behind him, George stays still for a few minutes, plotting his characters' next moves. When Ringo doesn’t come back, he assumes he must have gotten what he wanted and goes back to work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A couple hundred words later, George makes his self-insert doze off, comfortably enclosed in Ringo's embrace. He goes through it from the beginning, correcting some words and fixing a couple of choppy sentences. Finally, he decides he's satisfied with it and opens his browser. It's not long before he's logged in on AO3. He smiles happily at the list of his works.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has six of them so far, and he's proud of every single one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first one was written only a few weeks after he discovered fanfictions existed. He'd been quite shaken by the discovery. After all, <em>people write about him and his friends</em>. He'd thought that was insane and, truly, he still does. But he’s loved it from the start too, because in a way it isn’t him, and it isn’t Ringo and Paul and John that the fans portray. It’s only what they want to see. Everything is possible, including for him. George still remembers his elation when something had clicked in his mind, saying, <em>I can write too, and we can be anything I want</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And God, isn’t writing fanfictions a thousand times better than jerking off, though George would never have believed it had he been told a year before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But back to his works.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first one was only a short drabble, and it was very tame. Fluff only, a tender moment between him and Ringo. He'd received a lovely comment on that one. It had encouraged him to go on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second one was the exact opposite. It was a long, detailed, smutty one-shot. He'd written it after waking up from a dream with <em>something</em> aching down below. He'd been sharing with Ringo that night, and the lad was lightly snoring. George knew his friend was tired, and feared to wake him if he moved, so instead of taking care of it or heading to the bathroom for a cold shower, he’d grabbed his phone and written 4k in one go. It had kept him awake until dawn, when he'd posted it and fumbled with the tags more than he was willing to admit. Then he'd rolled on his side and fallen asleep within seconds, exhausted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The best thing? When John had roused him up hours later, he'd opened his emails and found <em>five </em>comments. One of them was a detailed and critical review of his work, which according to the lovely and supportive user was good but a bit sloppy. This had been helpful, and George had applied their advice when he'd written his third work. This one had been bookmarked by ten people and had been praised as “the perfect balance between hot and cute and omg I can’t aaa”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From then on, George had known he wouldn’t be able to stop writing for a while. He'd done a multi-chapter sixties AU, written a platonic little fic about the four of them (“very much in character wow you’re so talented”) and was now six chapters into publishing a coffee shop AU that was basically just sex. Not that the fans who were following him complained.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anyway. It warms his heart to stare at his work page. The love he feels for Ringo shines all around. Each and every of his works is filled with all the love he doesn’t get to express in real life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Time for some more love</em>, he thinks, clinking on “add a new chapter”. He adds a short note at the beginning of the chapter, typing quickly “<em>this one's basically only smut. Ringo tells George to wait for him at the end of his shift and takes him home. Hope you guys like it, your comments always make my day!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He updates his work, logs out, empties his historic <em>again</em> and closes all his open tabs before closing his laptop with the satisfied feeling of managed mischief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's about to put his laptop aside and get up to lock himself in because he needs to take care of his real-life body when the door jerks open and Ringo barges back in the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George lets out the tiniest groan. It seems he's gonna have to sport his hard-on for a little longer ... or a lot longer, considering Ringo's state.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His friend’s face is distraught. He fumbles with the doorknob for a while before he actually manages to close it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What happened?” George asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo stares at him with wide eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh ... Did the octopus die at the end?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t watch it,” Ringo mumbles, stumbling on the carpet and letting himself fall face down on the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George wonders for a second if carding his fingers through Ringo's hair would be a friendly thing to do, or if it would mean more than he’s willing to let on. Unsure about it, and even if the mop of hair beside him seems to beg for it, he decides against it and instead says, “I thought John had lent you his laptop”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He did,” comes his answer, muffled by the pillow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And ...?” George encourages him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There already was an open tab.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mmh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George definitely doesn’t like where this is going. He doesn’t like <em>at all</em>. Still, he wants to know. When Ringo doesn’t go on, he tries, “Was it gay porn?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not ... Not really. It <em>was</em> gay, but that's not the issue.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s the issue?” George asks gently. His friend is clearly struggling with something at the moment, and George will only be able to help him if he doesn’t keep it to himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you know a website called Tumblr?” Ringo finally asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George freezes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>That's it. Ringo knows about the fandom too. John does, obviously, he </em>loves<em> it, the bastard. </em>That only leaves Paul – though George wouldn’t be surprised if he knew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. I know Tumblr,” he says, his voice blank.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo turns his head to look at him. His voice is very serious and his cheeks are beet-red as he says, “There are people out there, who think some of us are in a relationship with others, I mean, I'm not sure they're convinced of it, but they act as if it was real, and they write stuff ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They <em>ship</em> us,” George sums up, unable to refrain himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you know about it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I write about it, </em>George thinks, but merely nods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And ... The whole thing about them <em>shipping</em> you ... with me ... for example ... You're alright with it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Act casual, act casual</em>, he thinks, and shrugs. “I don't care. It's what they want to see. It's only a problem if it bothers <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George looks down at Ringo who’s still lying next to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No ... I guess it's alright with me too,” Ringo drawls, seemingly absorbed by whatever thoughts are spinning in his head at the moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After that, he closes his eyes. He's not asleep. His eyelids flutter in the most kissable way. He's just <em>thinking</em>, he does that a lot when he’s bugged or overwhelmed and George knows it can last for up to an hour.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George can't and won’t kick him out of the room, and there's no way he's going to get up in his state, so he resigns himself to open his laptop again. Minutes go by and George opens a new document. He writes “Chapter 7” in bold, then stills as he waits for ideas to come.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But why do they do that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo's voice startles him. He saves his file and closes it in a rush, even though there’s nothing written in it. “Do what?” he pretends not to know, stalling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sh ... Ship us. Write things about us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They love us. The fans. They feel like they know us. It's their way to feel closer to us, I guess. To get <em>involved</em>. We wouldn’t sold as many albums if teenagers weren’t fangirling over McLennon,” he jokes. He hopes his answer doesn’t sound like he's given the matter too much thought, which he certainly has. What he's forgotten to take into account is to hide his knowledge of some words. Ringo doesn’t miss it and opens his eyes, intrigued.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“McLennon?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh ... Nothing to worry about. It's a ship name. Basically, people who ship Paul and John write fanfictions about them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo nods, taking in the information.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So ... McLennon’s the most popular ship?” he asks, seemingly unsure if he's saying it well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's right,” George says, praying <em>don't ask about the other ships, don’t ask, don’t ask.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And ... You've read some?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Shit</em>. That’s not really a better question. Even so, George prefers not to lie.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. And there're a lot of inaccurate facts, trust me. It even made me laugh a couple of times. So … out of character.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smiles. Ringo smiles back. George can literally read his mind at that moment. Ringo's thinking <em>well, that's not half as horrible as I thought.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Ringo's unpredictable sometimes, and the next thing he says is, “I could do with a laugh right now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George stares at him in shock. His friend returns the look sheepishly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you think that's weird ...” Ringo begins, insecure, and George curses himself before cutting him off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course it's not weird. Come on, sit up and I’ll show you some good McLennon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He quickly loads AO3 and Ringo scoots closer to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There,” George announces. “Here are all the fanfictions about the Beatles, filtered by the last time they've been updated.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo leans a bit on his shoulder to get closer to the screen. He points to the first result of the page.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is this one McLennon?” he asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George only needs to glance at it to know he's fucked. <em>Again</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This one is not McLennon. It's his coffeeshop AU.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck,” he groans.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Ringo says with this genuine tone of his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George knows he truly doesn’t know what is in front of his eyes. He must be struggling with the whole meaning of the tags, just like George did in the beginning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry Ritchie. I didn’t think you'd see this. We're not as popular a pairing as McLennon, I hadn’t thought ...” he blurts out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>What I hadn’t thought was that I am one of the main Starrison shippers and that I have just updated my work. Shit.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You and I. It’s not just Paul and John, people ship us too ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George puts his hands on his eyes. Maybe if he rubs them hard enough, the sight of this – Ringo, discovering a fanfiction about himself that George has written – will disappear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know. That's that ... ship I found when I borrowed John's laptop.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“… Right,” George sighs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Things are really getting worse by the minute.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Have you read this one?” Ringo asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“ ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“George.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe.” <em>In a way. When I reread it to check out for mistakes.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Give it to me?” Ringo asks with a small voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When it becomes evident that George won’t move, Ringo takes the laptop from him. It unveils George’s painful erection. Somehow it escapes the drummer’s attention. It isn’t even George’s top concern at the moment, which says a lot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, he folds his hands in his lap to hide his bulge and stares at some crappy painting that is hanging on the wall on the other side of the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He expects Ringo to throw the laptop away after a few sentences. Oddly enough, he doesn’t. He even clicks on the next chapter, and then on the next. George doesn’t dare to look at his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seems to take hours as Ringo goes through the six first chapters of his work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s wrong,” he finally says, looking up from the screen. “George.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George keeps looking away but Ringo takes none of it and pokes his thigh. “Look. Look at this. It's all wrong.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George is pretty sure he's deceased inside. He's also certain his cheeks are red now. So much for his pretended self-control.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo places the laptop halfway between their laps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There,” he says, underlining a couple of sentences. “According to this, you're on the bed. I'm on top of you, okay. We're kissing and grinding at the same time. It’s explicitly written that our dicks are at the same level. That’s not possible. You're too tall and I’m too small. It wouldn’t work.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You ... You read all this smut about <em>us</em> and the only thing you think about is the <em>technical aspect</em> of the thing?” George gasps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, he’s forced to look at Ringo. He looks as innocent as ever. <em>How does he do that? How can he be like that after having read…</em> But Ringo shurgs, interrupting his train of thoughts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s just that little details like this should be accurate. Else the reader won’t be able to picture the scene in his mind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Wait ... is ... Ringo ... picturing us having sex in his head?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George's mind keeps getting foggier. It takes him all he's got to just keep his hands folded in his lap and not actually apply some pressure where it's needed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I need to say something, anything.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he defends his work. “Maybe the writer meant that I'm – that George is propped up on pillows. This way he's – I’m – he's a bit bent and not bigger than Ringo. I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mind if we test that theory?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just what I said. Come on,” Ringo says, voice sweet and patient.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re ... You're really ready to do anything to be right, aren’t you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo doesn’t answer. He puts the laptop aside and puts an extra pillow behind George's back before pushing him against them. George doesn’t fight. His mind is desperately blank. He lets himself be lowered down on the bed. Ringo straddles him. The fact that they’re friends and bandmates doesn’t seem to trouble him the tiniest bit. The drummer merely grins at him. George can’t smile back, he’s having a hard time processing what’s happening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then Ringo kisses him. When his lips touch his, George can't help it. He lets out the tiniest moan, sheer neediness getting a hold of his body. He can only hope Ringo didn’t hear as he’s currently too busy trying to adjust their lower parts. His stomach brushes against George’s hard-on and George’s stiffles back another moan. Ringo doesn’t stop kissing him and teases him with his tongue. It goes on for a blissful, heavenly amount of time that could be an eternity or ten seconds, their lower parts grinding anywhere but against one another. Finally, Ringo breaks the kiss, panting, “I was right, it doesn't work.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe if we ...” George begins, ready to suggest anything if it would allow him to just kiss Ringo again. It felt so good. It can’t be over yet. <em>Please.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm right and you were wrong, that’s all,” Ringo chuckles in his ear. He's still on top of him, and then he whispers. “You’ll just have to edit that bit when you write chapter 7.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George may or may not be dreaming. This can't be real, that's all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I read that bit about octopuses, you know. Coincidences happen, but not ... A quarter of hour after I said it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I ...” George begins, then stops. What can he say? What could he possibly say?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Ringo says, and shushes him with a kiss of the cheek, grinning from ear to ear. “I love you too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You do?” George repeats, dumbfounded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course. I just didn’t know how to tell you about it … And I don’t write fanfictions,” Ringo says. “Not yet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time it's George who initiates the kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ringo becomes a Writer.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This took me way too long to write, and then even longer to edit. But here you go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Write,” Ringo says, gently nudging him in the ribs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Write!” the drummer repeats. A quick peck on George’s lips punctuates his words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo leans in, properly this time, and gives him a slow, tender kiss. He then raises his eyebrows in a silent question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It's gonna take a whole lot more of convincing and you know it,” George smirks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo shakes his head in disbelief. He mutters a complaint stating that George is “impossible”, but still gives him another kiss before flopping back on the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They're both enjoying some free time in-between two concerts. It's been a month since George oh-so accidentally had to tell Ringo about his feelings. They've never been so happy. At least it seems so to George, to the point that he doesn’t want to tell anyone about their relationship, not even their two bandmates. Their love is theirs and theirs only. Well – it's theirs and their shippers all across the World Wide Web. But even with that knowledge lingering in the back of their minds – how could they forget what got them together? – the thrill of being the only ones to know is very much there. Only the two of them know the happiness some of their fans like to pretend they have – only the two of them know this happiness exists. To them, Starrison isn’t only a fantasy, it's real. Only them, when they are together, can make it happen – and they make it happen a lot, be it only fluff in a secluded corridor or smut in a more private space.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo takes George's left hand in his, slowly drawing patterns on the soft skin. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just don't understand why you would abandon it,” he says. “The fans are waiting, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George has to tease him; he physically has to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you maybe happen to feel more commitment towards our shippers than towards the rest of our fan base?” he smirks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The issue is simple. It’s been a month since he and Ringo got together, and it's also been a month since George wrote anything. This doesn’t include songs, however – for these he seems to have plenty of ideas recently. But his coffee shop AU has painfully been left without any update. George didn’t even make any announcement. Nothing. Ringo the barista and George the uni customer seem to be stuck at chapter six until something happens. Today, Ringo seems to be resolved to be that something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s <em>Starrison</em> we're talking about,” Ringo insists.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't see why I should love these fans more than the McLennon ones, or even the Y/N ones,” George shrugs, a gesture that isn’t easy since he's lying on his back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Such a blatant lie</em>. George knows as soon as the words have left his lips that Ringo isn’t going to let that one pass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo extends a hand. “Lend me your phone?” he asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lost yours again?” George stalls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To his surprise, Ringo nods before adding, “But I think Mal got it in one pocket or another. I should just leave it there forever – I’m sick of losing it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe you should stop having a phone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Impossible. I love using that broccoli emoji way too much,” Ringo smiles before bringing a hand to George’s face, lightly brushing the unruly strands of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Please?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George, who'd been idly scrolling through Tumblr, hurriedly presses the Home button and closes all his open apps. He hands his phone to Ringo, only to see him open that godforsaken hell of an underworld again. <em>Tumblr it is. Tumblr is going to be my downfall.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let me see ...” Ringo mutters. “Ah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He taps a few times on the screen before giving it back to his boyfriend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s this?” George asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's just his blog. His own blog, with its lovely header announcing <em>don’t eat my biscuits</em>. There’s nothing to be seen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Scroll for a bit?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George does as he's told before lifting his head again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry love, I don’t see your point here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“All the posts you ever reblog are about us. About Starrison. And I’m not even talking about the ones you make yourself, the anons you answer and the kudos you leave on posts ... You’re as much a Starrison shipper as our fans could ever be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George grimaces but says nothing. He desperately tries to think of a comeback but gives up when Ringo rolls on his stomach and lays his head on George's chest, staring at him with big puppy eyes. “Well?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s so cute when you're right and I’m wrong,” George grins, suddenly not giving a damn anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This earns him another kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why do you want me to keep writing it?” he asks when they pull apart. Ringo snuggles against him and begins inspecting his fingers with careful attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just ... developed an emotional bond with the characters?” Ringo tries.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“With a multi-chapter porn without plot story you read for half an hour?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Show some respect to the story that got us together!” Ringo scolds him, scandalized. “There <em>is</em> a plot. Two dumb idiots who get together after pining while fucking all the while. That's the plot. Character A goes to uni and hates it, character B works in a coffee shop and has a scary amount of knowledge about sea creatures. Besides, what's wrong with smut?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, god. I don't know how but John must have perverted you too,” George says dramatically.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Ringo looks even more outraged than before, George adds quickly, “Just messing with you. There’s nothing wrong about smut. It kept me alive when I couldn’t have you. It's just that – why would I write the smut now that I can do everything I want with the real you? I don’t need it anymore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But some people need it,” Ringo objects gently. “Some people like this story and they’ll never know that the real one ends well.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has a point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George contemplates the matter for a few seconds. An idea slowly takes shape in his mind. An idea that renews all his interest for the story. He's pretty much interested about the seventh chapter if it's the other way around. If a special someone takes care of his characters for him ... That’s it. This is what will save his coffee shop AU.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You should write it!” he exclaims.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo lets out a little laugh before falling silent when he realizes George is perfectly serious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’d let me do that? To your fic?” he asks in disbelief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve never written fics before ... I'm sure it won't be as good as ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George shushes him immediately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ritchie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm sure you were born to be a fanfiction writer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A knock on their door prevents Ringo from replying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re off in fifteen minutes, lads! Get ready!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay,” Ringo says when the sound of footsteps has faded away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo smiles devilishly, an adorable mixture of cheekiness and insecurity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Writing session, tomorrow, same hour, same place?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George smiles enthusiastically before helping him up. It's only as they’re putting on their shoes that a thought strikes him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait. Aren’t we supposed to be in another country tomorrow?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They soon learn from the cheering crowd waving banners that they're in Austria. Not that they have any time to make good use of the information. As soon as the concert is over, they are quite literally dragged to a train station, piled up in a compartment and, as if it had been waiting for them, the train lets out a loud noise and leaves. They spend all the travel time dozing off and jerking awake. It leaves them exhausted. When they arrive in Spain at dawn, all they're able to do is follow Brian wordlessly, take the keys to their rooms and flop down on their beds, already asleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's noon when George and Ringo wake up. After that, they still have a lot of things to do: have breakfast and lunch – two meals in one: that's not something George dislikes –, meet with Brian for further instructions about the rest of the day and collectively answer fan mail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But after a while they're all done and are left free to spend the few hours before their gig how they wish. George is the first to retreat to the room he and Ringo share, but he's joined only a few minutes afterwards by the drummer who enters hurriedly and slams the door close, even turning the key twice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His grin is wide, and George swears he can see his eyes gleaming in an unusual way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo claps his hands together before he exclaims, “Okay! Let’s get to work.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Isn't that what we’ve been doing all morning?” George asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You were <em>sleeping </em>this morning, love. And I don't mean that kind of work.” Ringo takes a dramatic pause before positively beaming. “Time for chapter seven!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George had completely forgotten about that, but he's not complaining. Ringo flops down on the bed next to him, and, sprawled out on his stomach, brandishes his phone. George had forgotten the case was so obnoxiously yellow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got my phone back from Mal!” Ringo announces enthusiastically. “Please make me think to put it back in one of his pockets as soon as we're done. I don't want to lose it again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George hums, pretending he understands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So. Chapter one ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rereading your headers, of course! I don’t want to write something ... out of tune.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As much as George would like to tease his boyfriend for the bad musical pun, he has to admit that makes sense.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As I was saying: chapter one,” Ringo repeats, “Ringo’s had a very bad day. He’s getting sick of serving clients with shining smiles and overall pretending everything is alright. Thankfully, fifteen minutes before his much-earned break, he meets a client with the most sulking face he ever saw. So what does he do? Try to cheer them both up, of course.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s not my summary,” George interrupts the actual Ringo.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Summarizing as I scroll. I really like this, you know. You make me sound like a very kind person,” Ringo comments.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ritchie. I made you have sex with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And? Having sex with you is a blessing. Even in a fic.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George has to hide his head in his pillow from the embarrassment. He loves Ringo so damn much; how come he is so lucky? But Ringo goes on without paying him any more attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They don't do more than make out in some back alley because Ringo's break isn’t that long. This is so frustrating to them both that Ringo tells his cute and hot client that he's free to come back whenever he wants, and ... End of chapter one. Chapter two: mysterious client, the return. Blowjob ... When they part they both have smiles on their faces instead of pouts. That's so cute!” Ringo exclaims.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He makes a show of clicking on the <em>kudos</em> button before scrolling through chapter three, which displays the fantasized version of himself getting a blowjob from George this time. “Then there's chapter four ... This time you come back to the cafe but you're not sulking so I tease you a bit about it, saying you only need a coffee this time. Lots of dialogue and stolen glances ... George stays until Ringo closes the cafe for the day. Then they fuck in the back room … What are you saying?” Ringo asks, turning his head towards George who's just let out a whimper.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothing,” George mutters. “I’m just grateful you're back at using third person pronouns. Writing this while I’m all alone and hearing you read it are two different things.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Geo. For the millionth time, I’m not bothered you wrote smut about us. I told you it's cute! What else could you want?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo looks so sincere somehow, George can only mutter “nothing” again and gesture him to go on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mmm. Chapter five is rather short because there's not smut. It's just Ringo – me – well, Ringo – sulking in a corner because George hasn’t shown up for a whole week. Oh, he's developing a crush, I can feel it! I totally would if I were Ringo – if I were me – oh, well.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another tap of finger against the screen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Speaking of fucking: George is back in chapter six. He invites Ringo to his flat. You know what happens next.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George hums approvingly. Ringo props himself on an elbow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What's supposed to happen in chapter seven?” he asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I hate to say it like that, but ... they fuck some more?” George suggests, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know that much,” Ringo counters with an eyeroll. “But the <em>plot</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The smut <em>is</em> the plot, love.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It kills me you're not able to see this fic is a masterpiece of pining and requited unrequited love. Do you leave me free to write whatever I want?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t know you'd become a specialist in fanfiction tropes,” George grins. “But yeah. Write whatever you want.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo leans forward and kisses him gently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re the best.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George has no idea what he did to get that kiss, but he's not going to ask. Instead, he takes out his own phone and opens Tumblr, letting Ringo get to work without looking like he's eyeing his every move.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t fail: Ringo lies on his back, places his phone on his chest and closes his eyes. He stays like this for a few minutes as George keeps liking and reblogging Starrison posts, cringing a bit because he’s very much aware he’s shipping himself with his <em>boyfriend, what for?!</em> but unable to refrain himself. Ringo and he look good together. Anyone in his place would be helpless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he checks on the drummer again, his blue eyes are open and he's typing frantically, a little smile hanging on his lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes George all his self-control not to snatch his phone it from him. He just <em>wants</em> to know what Ringo's writing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why are you looking like you're in pain?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Didn’t want to distract you. Sorry,” George forces out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just tell me!” Ringo says, fingers hovering over the dimly lit screen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just realized that for once I don’t wanna jump on you but on your phone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my God. That’s the perfect quote. I need to use it!” Ringo babbles, writing it quickly before smiling at George. “Don’t worry, by the way. I'm gonna show you in just a moment.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But when you're waiting for the next chapter of a fic – especially one your boyfriend is writing right next to you – time always drags on forever. George has never felt that time was such a pain since that one Latin course he went to when he was thirteen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thankfully, about three reblogs and fifteen kudos later, just as George is about to run out of content – McLennon posts are beginning to invite themselves on his dash, and NO this is not bearable because he witnesses McLennon happening live daily–  Ringo hauls himself in a sitting position and hands him his phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm done with the first part of the chapter. It's only the fluff that’s gonna lead to the smut though, and ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But George has already his eyes on the screen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo's draft is 1k long.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo's draft is pure genius.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he reads, George recognizes a whole bunch of little details he had scattered around the previous chapters, little things and words. When he'd written them, they only gave a punctual illusion of meat to the plot. But in only a thousand words Ringo has managed to put everything together. It's as if, thanks to him, everything has now been assigned a meaning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure you never wrote anything before?” George asks when he finally lifts his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo shrugs. “Short stories, when I was a kid.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I ...” George begins. He doesn’t know how to say what he wants. Honestly, right now he feels a lot less like a co-author than like a reader. And even so, he'd much rather be fangirling and leaving enough hearts to bring back together a whole family in a comment than doing a critical analysis.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you think?” Ringo asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If ... If I were George, I'd probably fall on the ground under the weight of so much pining.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that a good thing, or ...” Ringo says, unsure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“GOD YES!!!” George suddenly shouts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It makes Ringo jump. George can't blame him, but he can't help it. He stands up from the bed and paces around the room, still clutching the phone in his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I love it, Ritchie. I just love it. You ... You gave this a soul, you know? I don't know how you did it. But I’d get punched for another 30k of this pining masterpiece,” George says, practically ranting at that point and quite resigned to sound way too enthusiastic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He runs a hand through his hair and peruses the chapter again. Ringo has chosen to change the point of view and has written as if he were George. George and Ringo – the characters, that is – are still at George’s. The plot for this feast of smut and angst is quite simple: it takes place <em>after </em>the smut of the last chapter but Barista Ringo still looks like he's sulking. Uni student George feels so happy at first that he doesn’t understand why. Miscommunication ensues and it doesn’t seem like much but it is – with veiled reproaches and bottled up feelings that are perceptible to the reader and the reader only.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was thinking George could bar the door before Ringo has had the time to storm off. Because, you know, Ringo is angry but he won’t tell George why – the reason being that George let pass a whole week before turning up and Ringo knows it’s not a thing he can reproach him because they only have sex and don’t date. So George just kisses him while Ringo’s trying to push him aside. Then Ringo just goes limp against him. And then George whispers something against his lips – he could suggest a round two would cure everything. What do you think?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George lets out a squeal before forcefully coughing and saying with his most casual voice. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea. Write that down before you forget it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes go by as Ringo quickly types on his phone. George's throat suddenly feels a bit dry. He tiptoes to the bathroom, careful not to disturb the genius at work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he comes back, Ringo isn’t on the bed anymore but standing in front of the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George briefly wonders why he's leaving – the only explanation would be that the smut involves another ship than them this chapter, and how <em>horrendous </em>would that be – but Ringo doesn’t move. He’s merely contemplating the door as if he’s spotted a pattern in the dark, veinous wood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George observes him silently as Ringo slowly turns around and rests his back against the door. The drummer’s eyes wander across the room, only briefly making contact with George's.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you doing?” George asks when his curiosity becomes unbearable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Analysing the surroundings,” Ringo says quietly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes keep darting across the room. He then takes a few steps, stopping in front of the window, heading to the telly before going back to the door. It makes George smile against his will.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want a measuring tape, perhaps?” he jokes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, do you have one?” Ringo asks, seemingly very excited by the idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't. Sorry,” George says with the most serious face he can muster. <em>Someone teach this drummer how to discern a joke from a real question</em>, he silently begs before deciding against it. Ringo is adorable, even when he's planning to write smut. <em>Especially</em> in that case, actually. George shakes his head. “Do you need help?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo flashes him a grateful smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’d be great. Could I ... Could you trap me against the door?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George has never obeyed faster in his life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Closer,” Ringo says, a focused expression on his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George presses their hips together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Great. Now, where would George’s hands be ...?” Ringo mutters. “I can't picture them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't know about him, but mine would settle there,” George says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's trying to <em>help</em>, that's all. There's no other reason why he's so eager to press himself even closer to his boyfriend, one hand settling on his hips and the other tangling in his hair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo lets out an approving hum. “Now kiss me,” he demands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George's right hand leaves Ringo’s hair to tilt his head up. Their lips meet in a tender and loving kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait. Wait,” Ringo stops him. “You need to be a bit rougher. George isn’t like that in the fic – not now anyway. He'll get there though, but for now – please act as if you were pissed at me for some reason you can't explain but still wanted me to stay here forever.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Since George <em>truly</em> does want Ringo to stay with him forever, he has no trouble doing exactly that. He connects their mouths again, his hand gripping Ringo's hip and the other his jaw. Keeping him into place before he bites his boyfriend’s lower lip. Ringo gasps and George uses the advantage to fully take control of the kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He completely forgets where he is and why. Until Ringo pushes him away, suddenly breaking the kiss. He puts his phone out of his pocket and begins typing without even acknowledging George's presence anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is ... so perfect,” Ringo grits between his teeth. “Great.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's tapping on the little screen faster than George has ever seen him do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Great,” George repeats after him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here he was, enjoying the kiss, and now Ringo’s ignoring him. His boyfriend only has eyes for his phone, and he can’t help but begin to resent the little object for getting between them. He gives it a frustrated glare but doesn’t do anything else. He's not <em>that</em> horny. Surely he can control himself. Even if every fibre of his being keeps whispering to him how great, how pleasurable it would be to just press his hips against his boyfriend’s once more, and maybe – maybe even knock that damn phone down. But he can't do that, can he? Can you be jealous of a <em>phone</em> of all things? Maybe … Maybe George should start questioning every belief he held for certain before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before he can resolve to do anything, though, Ringo has pocketed the offensive phone again and is looking up at him with big, begging eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do it again?” he asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do ... What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah, yes,” Ringo chuckles lightly. “Kiss me again, just like you did? I didn’t write everything down. Don't add new elements though.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>New elements</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George feels like his boyfriend has become a businessman of some sort. Or perhaps a cook?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Brand new type of chemist measuring out love or not, George still complies. He was <em>aching</em> to kiss Ringo anyway. This time, only two minutes pass before he's pushed away. Ringo brandishes his phone. It looks like he's truly forgotten George is here, but when the guitarist attempts to let go of him Ringo seizes his wrist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No! Place stay. I need you here,” he says, eyes still fixed on the screen as he's typing with only one thumb.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From this moment George feels quite resigned to his fate. He couldn’t do anything but accept it, if only because Ringo looks gorgeous like this. His hair is ruffled from their snogging session and his lips are slightly parted as he's writing, sometimes glancing quickly at George, maybe to write some detail or just to make sure he hasn’t gone anywhere.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo makes him kiss him “just like before, again, please,” at least three times. George loses the count after a while. It's just driving him mad. Ringo is right here and when they kiss and touch he's not the last one to moan and overall respond enthusiastically, and still every time George is abruptly pushed away when he least expects it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo puts his phone in his pocket <em>again</em>, smiling at him <em>again</em>, and suddenly George can't take it anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Love, I know I said I’d happily kiss you all day, but ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I’m done with the first part!” Ringo interrupts him, seemingly very proud of himself. “We're going to do something else now!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George raises an eyebrow in a silent question. Although he's thrilled to do <em>something else</em>, he somehow fears the same thing is going to happen to him again. Left alone with his boner after being so teased it should be illegal, while Ringo only has eyes for his stupid phone that doesn’t even know how lucky it is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Remember where we stopped?” Ringo asks him as if they are quietly sipping tea and catching up on how their family members fare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think I do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come closer then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once more there's no space between their bodies. <em>That damn phone would be crushed if it dared squeeze itself between us</em>, George thinks with revengeful triumph. When he realizes it, he quickly begs his face hasn’t revealed his thoughts before paying attention to Ringo again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The drummer has a focused look on his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Take ... Take a hold of my legs and lift me up,” he finally says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George hopes his growl comes across as a mere hum. He's barely pressed Ringo against the wooden door when the other pitilessly taps on his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, put me down,” Ringo breathes out, “I ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes out his phone but this time can’t open his word doc. George has snatched it from him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey!” Ringo says voice indignant. “Give it back!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That's not part of George's plan at all. Ignoring Ringo’s mixture of complaints – “Geo, why are you doing this ... Give it back or I’ll tell Brian it wasn’t John who nicked all the olives from his plate the other day,” he aims directly at what Ringo has written.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he reads it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Lord if what his boyfriend and best friend and <em>soulmate, let’s be honest for once</em> has written isn’t hot ... nothing is. Maybe the state he already was in when he began to read is influencing him. Maybe not. Its effect right now, however, is simple: George won’t budge. Which means that Ringo is not to even lay a finger on that phone until ... until.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Ringo whines. “That’s not fair.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s roughly 500 words long,” George says, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, that's why you need to give it back to me, and then we ...” Ringo retorts but George isn’t listening anymore. He scratches his head, just once; then takes a deep breath. The next second finds him typing as fast as he can. From now on Customer George and Barista Ringo are going to hurry up a bit. George writes and writes, trying his best so the change of writer won't appear too much. It's a pity he can't force himself to let Ringo write the rest – his style is perfect. <em>I'll let him proofread it and add stuff if he wants,</em> George thinks absentmindedly as he writes everything that crosses his mind. What's driving him crazy is that he can still <em>feel</em> Ringo right in front of him. It seems the drummer has decided to just wait until George is done. At some point, George hears him mutter, “Oh. Oh, I get it now,” but he’s in the middle of a very long sentence and is too busy to look at him directly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sentences later, George saves the work and throws the phone on the bed, at last turning his eyes back to Ringo. It might be due to the poor lighting of the room, but the drummer's eyes seem darker than usual as George stares into them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know what you were doing,” Ringo croaks out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George shushes him with a kiss. This kiss doesn’t belong to the George and Ringo from their – <em>their!!</em> chants distantly a voice in his head – fic, it only belongs to them. It's a lot sweeter than the ones they shared again and again as Ringo was writing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was downright torture,” Ringo mumbles against his lips, fingers clutching his neck and left shoulder as if fearing George might break the kiss – <em>as if. Kisses have been broken enough to last a lifetime</em>. “Watching you write it and not being able to even catch your eyes. Not even seeing what you were writing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just,” George says, letting go of Ringo's lips only to pepper kisses along his jaw, “I just couldn’t take it anymore. Sorry I wrote it instead of you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He settles in the crook of Ringo's neck and begins to nibble at the soft skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want to read it?” he asks before dedicating all his attention to what feels like a need right now – leave a mark that will stay there for days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George can feel the moan that escapes Ringo's lips a split second before hearing it. Ringo's throat seems to vibrate from it, sending delightful echoes through George’s own lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George lets his hands explore the drummer’s body, lightly caressing him. This time, he's sure of it, Ringo won’t push him away. They both need this equally, and if Ringo’s light buckle of the hips against him isn’t enough to prove it then the next words he says clear any doubt once and for all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to read right now … Why don't you ... show me what you wrote?” Ringo says with a shaky voice that makes something jolt in George's stomach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George grins, nuzzling his nose in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. He leaves fluttering kisses everywhere he can before answering. “Only if we skip the part you wrote.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As soon as Ringo moans in approval, George guides him to the bed, walking backwards until he lets himself fall on the mattress. Ringo lands on top of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Having Ringo against his chest, feeling his weight ground him much more effectively than the bed, is even better than what George thought when he wrote about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait,” Ringo says, scooting away and <em>grabbing his phone that was lying on the bed, of all things, how- no-</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>But all Ringo does is put it on the bedside table. He then hurries back, settling between George’s legs and kissing him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once more love is shining all around here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I somehow feel like there are a lot of sentences that are weird, but I didn't know how to fix them. I hope it didn't bother you and that you still liked it!<br/>(ALSO I had an idea for a third chapter because I love this AU a bit too much. It'll probably take me forever to write though.)</p>
<p>MOST IMPORTANTLY I NEED TO READ THAT COFFEE SHOP AU please tell I'm not alone</p>
<p>Thank you for reading &lt;3 I hope you have a nice day/night!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George and Ringo are writers ... and they take requests now!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's me again ... welcome to sin?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all begins with an ask. More precisely, it's an Anon on George's Tumblr.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Do you take requests?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George's first move is to say “no”, because they’re really busy these days and Ringo and him already struggle a bit to update their coffee shop AU in time. Besides, he’s never taken requests; never figured someone would like to send him one. But then, just to be sure, he leans towards Ringo who’s by his side – he always is. He's shows him the ask and sees his beaming face. Making up his mind all at once, George quickly writes “<em>that's a good idea, Anon. I'll make an announcement about that later</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later is now. Here he is, and he’s not alone. Ringo and him, sat in their favourite working space – the bed, any bed in any hotel room they find themselves in. No matter how bare these hotel rooms could get, sometimes lacking chairs, mirror, toilets, windows, or <em>all these at once, Jesus</em>, there always was a bed. Or two, but they only used one anyway, and they made the most of it. By working, of course – what else could one do in a bed with their boyfriend?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George rereads the announcement he's typed for the umpteenth time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hey lovely people ...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm tired of rereading it,” he huffs, turning to look at Ringo who's currently watching a documentary on his own phone – quite a miracle, that. It's been two months since they began writing together, and it’s also been two months since Ringo last lost his phone. George always makes sure to mentally thank Mal’s pockets whenever he thinks about it – that’s the vault where the phone always ends its days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo pauses his documentary. George has the time to see a whale before Ringo smiles, making him forget everything about sea creatures.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want me to post it for you?” his boyfriend asks sweetly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Relief floods through George’s veins and he practically shoves his phone in Ringo’s hands as he blurts out a “please”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo doesn’t seem to have last-minute qualms like George does. He merely taps on the screenand gives George his phone back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Here,” he says. “Today is gonna be great, love. Stop worrying about it!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo's smile is so natural, not forced one bit, and his blue eyes are shining with fondness. Bit by bit George feels himself become less antsy. He couldn’t fight Ringo’s soothing influence if he wanted to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's only a Request Week. What could happen? Truly, George's only doubt is about the asks themselves. Because … what if he didn’t get any?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you don't get any ask, we can just take some prompts and have fun with them,” Ringo says from behind his phone, only apparently focused on the documentary.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's right. Prompts would be fun too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This thought allows George to open his Tumblr again and look at his blog with a half-smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a whole week, himself and his <em>lovely cowriter, the genius who's in charge of all the angsty fluff on our AO3, I named the one and only @inourlittlehideaway, are going to host a request week! You can send us any idea you want, and don't hold back! We won’t write things that make us uncomfortable, but we still promise you - it's gonna be a great time! The week begins <strong>right now</strong></em>, <em>and ...</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I said I didn’t want to reread it,</em> George berates himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, he clicks on his blogs's header. Right next to all the other informations about him (<em>Starrison is real, trust me – proud shipper – link to my AO3 shared with @inourlittlehideaway)</em> he adds, <em>REQUESTS ARE OPEN!</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>All he has to do is to wait now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Breakfast?” he asks Ringo.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They're both up within a second, leaving their phones on the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>During breakfast, they're mostly left to themselves. Paul and John are here too, but something on their faces clearly indicate to their two bandmates that now is not the time to ask them anything, even if it's to inquire after how they slept. They’re muttering furiously, leaning towards one another. Most probably another fight over a new song. John must want to replace the word <em>love</em> by <em>loving</em>, George thinks wryly. Or maybe it's the other way around. In any case, it's nothing he feels concerned about, so he lets them sulk in their corner and sits in front of Ringo a few chairs away. After a feast of orange juice and pastries – what's the country they're in again? George likes this one – they make a beeline for their room again. They're meant to leave the hotel at five, and it’s only about eleven in the morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They have a lot of time on their hands; they should be able to take care of a lot of asks. Providing they receive any, that is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They enter their room and Ringo locks the door. <em>This</em> is something that has changed since they started dating. In the past, they never locked the door, because what they constantly did was head in and out of the bedroom. Now they either keep to themselves or leave together. George loves it. He relishes the sound the key makes when Ringo turns it – not that he’ll ever say it, though ... Anyway. Once safely locked in, George's first impulse is to check his phone for asks. And there it is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We got one!” he squeals.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a split second, Ringo looks at him expectantly. It's enough to make George blush furiously. <em>Of course</em>. Of course he's the only one so thrilled about it. Ringo's just tagging along because he's so kind, but George is alone in this ... Thankfully all these thoughts fade away when a big, goofy smile appears on Ringo's face. “Already? Tell me what it's about!” the drummer urges him, looking very excited about it – enough to spur a relieved smile on George's face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, right. The ask,” he mutters with a content sigh. It's so weird, how he's forgotten everything about it in a second just because he thought Ringo didn’t care. George has noticed this tends to happen a lot these days. Make him think about Ringo and he'll be likely to lose all focus.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This one’s for you, Ritchie!” he says once he's read the ask. “Fluffy blurb just for you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo's brows furrow but he takes the phone George hands him anyway. “I told you I’m not in charge of all the fluff that will go out of this room,” he protests.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George fetches his acoustic guitar in a corner of the room and sits on their bed, resting his back against the headboard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can't possibly write a love panegyric about myself though,” he smiles, nodding towards the phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Hi! Your writing is fantastic. I’ve reread your coffee shop AU twice already. Could I request a fluffy moment between them, with George playing the guitar? Ringo's point of view, established relationship. Thanks!” </em>Ringo reads before grinning<em>. </em>“This one is <em>mine</em>,” he says, tone almost defensive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Never said I was gonna fight you,” George smirks, plucking chords on his guitar at random before his face lightens. “Oh God. This sounds <em>great.</em> Take as long as you want to write the request,” he adds with a distant voice, already completely engrossed by his instrument.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re making it really easy, you know that?” Ringo says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Usually people complain about the opposite,” George mumbles, playing the chord again and again. He adds another chord, then another, slides his left hand all across the neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Creating music ... or just little tunes that won’t necessarily become real things, is the best occupation one could think of. This Anon really was inspired. And so is Ringo. Soon, all too soon, George is forced to lift his head from his fingers dancing along the chords. Ringo is presenting him his phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Already?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo nods, and George lets the last notes fade into the air, discarding his guitar in favour of Ringo's present.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If Anon had asked you to write smut, I'd still be playing,” he jokes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Read,” Ringo gently admonishes him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's easy to comply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You ... You really think that?” George asks when he's finished reading.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo looks quite nervous, actually fiddling with the hem of his shirt, but when he hears George's question his expression becomes teasing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course not. I wrote it as a fanfic about George Harrison, not you. I don’t feel like that at <em>all</em>. I'm in love with a <em>rockstar</em>, not with ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I love you,” George blurts out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo opens his mouth, closes it. He's apparently still trying to remember what he was saying when George leans in and kisses him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I love you, too,” Ringo manages to pant after many minutes spent kissing, kissing and kissing again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I figured,” George says, gently pecking him on the cheek. “These requests are gonna turn us into a sappy puddle of goo and– the request!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hastily retrieves the phone from the floor where it had landed somehow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can I post it?” he asks Ringo who nods, eyes shining.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George pastes the text; smiles as he writes a little something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Thanks a lot, Anon! @inourlittlehideaway</em> <em>wrote this just for you (and for me, too). Hopefully you find it as fluffy as I did!</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s up,” he then announces before seeing something else. “Oh. There's another ask. Mmmh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Do you write McLennon?”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>They share a knowing look before a devilish grin spreads on George’s face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, please,” George practically begs. “Let me do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Um … okay?” Ringo says, a bit puzzled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Et voilà,” George announces a few moments later. “Best fic ever. Guess I’ll win AO3 another Hugo Award with this one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What ...” Ringo begins, eyes widening once he reads the draft. “<em>John kisses Paul.</em> That’s your fic?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You should show a bit more enthusiasm. It’s my first McLennon fic, after all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m really proud,” Ringo grimaces, tone impossibly flat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George stares at him with disappointment and he pretends to wipe away a tear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, I guess that’ll do,” George finally smiles. I hope Anon will like it more than you though … Oh, wait!! Someone reblogged your guitar fluff!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George turns his phone towards Ringo so he can read the reblog: <em>I’m sure they really do love each other that much omg thank you for this.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do we, now?” George asks, quirking up an eyebrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They kiss to assess what truth there might be in that statement, only stopping when another ask pops in. <em>McLennon, part two? The first was so good.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This Anon has John's soul I swear,” George grits through his teeth as he types his answer to the request. <em>Paul kisses John.</em> Next to him, Ringo is curled on the bed and laughing his head off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not that much Starrison yet, eh?” the drummer pants when he finally regains some composure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I swear. It's like these two are here even when it's just the two of us. I wanna <em>write</em>,” George complains.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's aware his voice comes out like a whine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, just say it?” Ringo suggests.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“… Genius!” George shouts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's only a matter of seconds before he's made a new post.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Folks, please. Tone the McLennon down a bit? Some good Starrison requests would be highly appreciated. Nsfw preferably. Not that I want to tell you what to do, but. PLEASE SEND REQUESTS THAT AREN’T MCLENNON RELATED for the love of Ringo’s broccoli emojis.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“Do you think I sound desperate?” he then asks Ringo.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His boyfriend shrugs. “A bit?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's what I thought,” George says, running a hand through his hair. Ringo still has his phone, seemingly having forgotten it isn’t his. George doesn’t mind – watching the drummer scrolling on Tumblr is somehow as entertaining as scrolling on Tumblr itself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yikes,” Ringo says with a shudder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George gives him a questioning look.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Anon’s at it again,” Ringo says. “Or another Anon. Anyway. <em>Is Poly Beatles McLennon</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George shakes his head forcefully, trying with all his strength to get rid of the images the request has conjured in his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Give it to me,” he asks Ringo.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>StOP MeSsINg WiTh uS Anon. You've just traumatised @inourlittlehideway. Come on people, this is a S T A R R I S O N blog.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'll sound harsh, but they have no right to put these ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Images in your head,” Ringo completes his sentence. “I don’t care if they ship us four. I just don't want to <em>write </em>it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you'd be okay <em>reading it</em>??” George teases.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo dutifully ignores him as he announces they’ve received another request. “Look!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There it is. The request George has been waiting for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Starrison (sorry to that mclennon Anon lol): George and Ringo cuddle. They only wanted to have a quiet moment but in the end they get distracted </em><em>👀</em><em> Btw you two are my favourite writers </em>👌</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“May this Anon have a blessed day,” George exhales. Ideas are already spinning in his head. Sentences slowly take shape; words combine. “Who cuddles who?” he wonders out loud, tearing his eyes from the request only to find Ringo has shifted a bit on the bed and is waiting for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I could do with being cuddled right now,” the drummer says. “Come closer?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George doesn’t need to be told twice. “We don't really need to rehearse though,” he comments, burying his face in his boyfriend’s neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop talking. It's nice,” Ringo says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George hums in approval. They stay quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying each other’s presence. George feels as if he can't get enough of pressing his chest against Ringo's back. Their bodies really fit perfectly with one another. He wraps his free arm around Ringo and tangles their fingers. There. <em>Now</em> it's completely nice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You smell like the hotel soap,” George mumbles, face still hidden in Ringo's neck – to the point that when he speaks hair tickles his mouth. He doesn’t push the offensive strand away though, unable to deal with the idea of letting go of Ringo's hand, even for a minute.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I forgot my bottle of shampoo in the last hotel we stayed in. Or the one before that,” Ringo says, almost drowsily. “Why?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Could be an angle,” George suggests. “For the fluff part.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The fact I’m the most distracted person you've ever dated?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That too if you want, but ... The way smells and settings change all the time. We’re always in different places, we don't have a schedule that repeats neatly every day of the week. The people around us, they change all the time except for the ones that are really close to us. So, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're as mysterious as Paul at the moment,” Ringo chuckles lightly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re grounding me. You’re the element that doesn’t change. Even when you don't smell like I’m used to. I like ... to think I’m that to you, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh. Of course,” Ringo says. “Of course. It’s the same for me. I'd be lost if you weren’t there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You already admitted you lose everything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. Imagine how worse it would be if you weren’t there to remind me to put trousers on in the morning.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I never wanted you to put trousers on in the first place ... Do you want to write the fluff part?” George asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure,” Ringo says. His grin can be heard in his voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They only move for a few seconds, and soon Ringo is cuddled again, phone lit in front of him. <em>It's the perfect way to write</em>, George realizes. <em>I can see everything he's typing</em>. He still asks Ringo if he's comfortable with him reading while he writes. The drummer hums in approval, merely reminding him that he <em>carn't</em> <em>spell</em> before setting to work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mesmerized, George watches Ringo's thumbs wiggle above the screen. Words flow easily. He briefly wonders if his presence is forcing his boyfriend to make the fluff extra fluffy – all this celebration of his <em>prettiness</em>, described from Ringo’s point of view, is beginning to make his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Thankfully, he has other things to focus on. For example, how his hand settled on Ringo's hip feels, and how it fits the way the drummer describes it with words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Give it to me,” he asks when he senses Ringo is nearly done with his part – his writing has become slower, and, in fact, his left hand is playing with the case. “This is most unfair,” George explains once he's obtained the phone. “We need to add parts showing how beautiful you are too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not leaving Ringo time to protest like he knows he's likely to, George turns away from him, praying with all his heart Ringo will get the hint.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he does, flipping on the other side, shifting closer and cuddling him in turn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s gonna sound weird. Two points of view squashed in the same thing,” Ringo says, bringing a hand up to George's hair. Fingers thread through his scalp, making him relax into the touch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't even care,” he grumbles, not even bothering to part his lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What if we could merge every point of view that existed into one – all these different perspectives and ways of seeing the world. Would it ...” George muses, not finishing his sentence because, really, he doesn’t know what would happen then. But the idea appeals him, even makes his heart jump a little. Understanding everywhere … Well, maybe now's not the time. He should focus on his boyfriend, not on that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let's begin with our two points of view, then,” Ringo agrees, once more surprising George. He seems to always, <em>always </em>understand him, and how is that even possible? <em>Maybe our points of view have already become one</em>, he thinks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll keep it subtle,” he promises. “It won’t even show.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyebrows frown when he's finished editing his boyfriend’s part. <em>What now?</em> he wonders, half-closing his eyes as he tries to think about it. In the fic, George 2 and Ringo 2 are cuddling quietly. What possibly could make them fall into another mood? George has <em>plenty </em>of ideas about the things they could do once properly brought where he wants, but before that ...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lacking ideas?” Ringo asks, propping himself on his elbow behind George. He plants a kiss on his temple before settling on stroking his hair lazily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You could say that,” George hums.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He feels so good under Ringo's touch and leans back even more, pressing his body flat against Ringo's warm, soft embrace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That's when he feels it. Something that's definitely <em>not</em> soft and cute, and that is prodding his back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>This can't be the phone,</em> George thinks. The phone is in his hand, actually. Still, Ringo had his phone too a while ago. Maybe ...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Experimentally, oh-so slightly, like he's merely adjusting to be more comfortable, he shifts his body away from Ringo, only a few inches, before pressing himself back against the body cuddling him. No reaction. Still, this <em>has</em> to be. George squirms on the bed so his behind will be against that hard thing poking his back, whatever it might be. This time, when he repeats the action, Ringo lets out a gasp.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Good. Very good.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that your phone?” he asks innocently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Ringo says, perfectly still, his voice husky in George’s ear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This,” George answers as he wriggles again to make his point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ringo’s crotch pokes him right in the ass, and George is now positive it <em>is</em> his crotch, wonders how he could ever doubt it. Ringo grips his hip, not to stop him but, somehow, to tell him to go on. And George does just that, moving away and back again, up and down until he <em>knows</em> from Ringo’s bruising grip on his hip that he's a shivering mess behind him. Not to say that George himself isn’t enjoying it. Weirdly enough, he doesn’t even feel the need to take off his clothes. The multiple layers between them, between his boyfriend’s throbbing cock and his own body, have almost disappeared in his mind. He only needs to <em>picture</em> that cock in himself to moan himself. The pressure he feels, both against his ass and in his strained trousers, only makes the imagination easier to sustain. Ringo begins thrusting against him, apparently not minding either that they're not doing more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“George ...” his boyfriend says in his ear. It comes out almost like a grunt, and George is surprised by how <em>soft</em> and <em>loving</em> it manages to sound at the same time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Touch me,” he asks, guiding Ringo's hand from his hip to his own crotch. Arousal is making his head spin, and he finds that despite not having touched himself since they began cuddling, he's already aching for release. Ringo fumbles with his belt buckle only for a few seconds before expertly opening his jeans. His hand finds its way to his pants. George almost sighs in relief as Ringo begins to stroke him, all the while grinding his own erection against George's back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That ... enough ... to get you going?” he asks Ringo, only to be sure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After all, Ringo still has his jeans on. That mustn’t be very comfortable. Just then, an artful stroke from his boyfriend makes him moan and arch his back, pressing himself back against the other man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Please,” Ringo moans. “Do that again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He plants kisses on George's shoulder – or on the top of his arm, really. All the while, he doesn’t stop running his hand up and down George's length, making it all the easier to comply arch his back again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All it takes for them to finish is a few more thrusts and strokes. They come practically at the same time, frantically and with something akin to desperation. Then they still, breaths evening and eyes closing against their will.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There’s a definite advantage to this position,” Ringo says, the faintest chuckle echoing in his voice. His hand slowly retreats from George’s briefs and settles back on his hip, holding him close – as if George would go anywhere. “We’re already cuddling.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George faintly notes the drummer didn’t wipe his hand, that it must be sticky, but he can't bring himself to do anything about it. He'll change clothes later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I love you,” he says instead, feeling he's said it a hundred times already that day but not minding either – if Ringo doesn’t mind, why should he bother and hide what is true?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Ringo certainly doesn’t mind, seeing he nuzzles his head against his back, between his shoulder blades and whispers that he loves him too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slowly, lazily, their minds become less cloudy. They both hop in the bathroom for a quick shower, hurrying as much as possible before rushing back to bed, cuddling again. George cuddles Ringo and uses well the fact he's bigger than him, kissing him whenever he feels like it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only later that day – hours later, really – they post cuddly Anon's request on Tumblr.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>At last some good Starrison! Thank you, Anon. Sorry for the long wait ... @inourlittlehideaway and I got a bit distracted. Your request was just that good.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you think they'll understand what I mean?” George asks when it's time to press the <em>post</em> button.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If <em>I </em>understand, I don't think they'll have any trouble doing so,” Ringo shrugs, cheeks colouring with the slightest shade of pink.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They discover that they have received three more requests in the meantime – and none seem to be about McLennon. Still, they don't rush on them this time, taking the time to chatter quietly first about everything and anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’re only enjoying each other’s presence as much as they can. To be honest, George soon finds himself wanting to shower Ringo with love again. Ringo lies on the bed with his head in his lap and George pets his hair fondly, absentmindedly toying with one of the requests a user – not on anon this time – has sent them. He'll write that one later. Really, it’s not their fault these Anons force them to confess their love to one another repeatedly. <em>They</em> are the ones making love shine all around here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I did a thing. I created George's tumblr bECauSe, so if you want to you can find it <a href="https://starrisontruffle.tumblr.com/">here</a> if you'd like. I merely wanted to have fun writing the tags under his posts because I think it's a shame they didn't appear in this chapter. I must warn you I didn't write the actual requests though ^^ (and I refrained from reblogging starrison stuff bc I didn't want ops to wonder wtf this fake blog is. But if I could there'd be LOADS)</p>
<p>Also, I want to write a fourth chapter because I'm having way too much fun. But I'm writing something else atm so I don't exactly know when I'll do it!</p>
<p>Thank you so much for reading. I hope you're fine and that you're having a good day/night!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I enjoyed writing this one so much that I think I could write a part 2 someday, but you tell me if you'd read it :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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